


your heart & your body

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Derek Hale, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, POV Derek, POV Second Person, PWP, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 10:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12933324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: You are good at giving, and god knows he’s an expert at asking for what he wants--it’s how you ended up here, him showing up pissed and itching for a fight, patching you up and bitching about Scott and demandingare you ever gonna man up and fuck me?--but you aren’t good at telling him what you want





	your heart & your body

The thing is. 

You have fantastic sex. 

Stiles says he doesn’t have a lot to compare it to--and you privately thank  _ God _ for that, because if Stiles had any experience, you aren’t sure you’d survive it--but he says it’s mind blowing and brags regularly to Scott and any of the pack who is willing to listen. 

It’s not always sex, though--you spend a lot of time out of bed, even when you aren’t fighting for your lives or running from the monster of the week. You fight with him over dinner and snark at each him while he helps you cook and argue over movie choices and get off against every surface in the loft, until the whole place reeks of sex and Stiles’ and you can’t sit on your couch without remembering the way Stiles panted and moaned as you pushed him into the cushions and ate him out for  _ hours _ , until Stiles was sobbing and dripping on the cushions and you were so hard it actually hurt. 

Ok. So you don’t  _ always _ have sex, but sex is a pretty big part of your relationship. Stiles adores it, is always ready for it, even after a showdown with a hungry redcap, even when he’s so sleepy he can’t keep himself upright, just clings to you as you fuck him. It works for you, makes him happy and pliant, makes your wolf quiet and content when you’ve covered him with your big body and buried yourself in his tight heat and felt him shuddering for you, just for you, as you bite at his neck and come inside him, where no one else can touch. 

But. 

You don’t think it’s enough. 

Which is why you’re here. 

Stiles is squirming in your lap, his mouth hot and wet and eager against yours, his fingers already restless against your shoulders, and you shudder when he rolls against you, that dirty little twitch of his hips that makes you tilt your head back and keen. 

You lose a second of time, you think, because he’s got the lube in his hand, and he’s shifting up and away from you, reaching for his--

“I want--” you hesitate and Stiles stills. 

Because this isn’t something you’re good at. You are good at giving, and god knows he’s a fucking expert at asking for what he wants--it’s how you ended up here, him showing up pissed and itching for a fight, patching you up and bitching about Scott and demanding  _ are you ever gonna man up and fuck me? _ \--but you aren’t good at telling him what you want. 

He figures it out, most of the time. Figured out that you love when you rim him. Loves when he tugs on your hair as you suck him off, loves the raspy ceaseless filth as you fuck him, loves the way he tries to mark you. 

He knows you love the scent of him, rubbing his come into your skin, and curling up around him when he's covered in your sweat and spunk. 

And he  _ knows _ you don’t like to bottom. That you can’t. 

You tried explaining it and he cut you off as soon as you said  _ Kate _ , his eyes going cold with that familiar rage that’s  _ for  _ you not at you, and he kissed you slow and sweet before he opened himself up and rode you lazily, until you were howling while you came in him and he was gasping and coming untouched across your belly. 

He’s watching you now, patient and understanding and you lick your lips. Catch his fingers, still wet with lube and guides him down, down where you want him. 

His breath catches and he jerks away, just a little, just enough to stare at you with wide confused eyes. 

Gods, he’s beautiful. This perfect beautiful boy who wants you, and you’ve got no fucking clue why. 

“Der, we don’t have to. I  _ like _ you fucking me.” 

“Want to,” you say, pressing his fingers to your hole and shivering a little at it. He whines in his throat, but he’s still tugging against your grip so you give up a frustrated growl. “ _ Want you to,” _ you snap. “I trust you, Stiles. You aren’t Kate.” 

_ You aren’t going to hurt me.  _

Stiles takes a deep breath and he stops fighting it, leans down and kisses you as he brushes against you and you whimper at the touch, at the sweetness of the kiss, and his eyes close, just a little. 

“Promise you’ll stop me if you need to,” he breathes and you nod, almost frantic. 

Because you do want this. You’ve wanted it from the beginning and you’ve known--you’ve  _ known _ \--you could trust him, but you didn’t.

The thing is, you trust Stiles, with your heart and your life and your body. 

You don’t trust  _ yourself.  _

You haven’t trusted yourself since Kate strolled into your life and your bed, and burned it all to the ground. 

But Stiles. Stiles isn’t Kate. He’s been the one pulling you up, carrying you when you can’t carry yourself, the one running headlong into danger  _ for you _ , and you--you want this. 

With him, you want this. 

When he pushes the first finger in, you gasp and twitch, just a little, away, and he hums against your lips, free hand petting at the nape of your neck, gentle and grounding as he murmurs nonsense praise against your lip. For a moment he just presses  _ in _ and you breath, taking it, until he moves, and it makes you twitch, but not away this time, it makes you want to groan and arch toward him. 

“Holy christ, Der,” he breathes, and you flush. 

He’s got a finger--two, that’s definitely a second finger now and you groan, fucking down on his fingers--in your ass, and you’re flushing because he’s  _ talking _ to you. 

And he notices because he’s Stiles and he always notices, the bastard. He grins at you, a dirty promise. 

“You like that, huh, big guy? You take it so well, just open right up for me. You’re gonna feels so good around my cock, Derek, jesus.” He thrusts hard at that, like he can’t quite help it, like just the  _ thought _ of fucking you is getting him off and you nearly come off the damn bed because  _ holy Christ.  _

“Oh,” he breathes, and you whine, a little bit of panic threading through it. His smile is all wicked delight. “Oh, babe.” 

He does it again, that hard thrust that fucks right into your prostate--ooh, look, you can still put two and two together to get four--and you fucking  _ howl _ . 

Stiles makes this noise, the one you know he makes when he’s aching for  _ more,  _ and you feel him kiss you, hard and wet and desperate before he jerks away. 

When he licks you, pressing his tongue between his finger, fucking  _ in you,  _ and you--

You break. 

Come completely apart. 

You know you’re talking, that you’re babbling, but you can’t actually  _ hear _ it, can’t understand  _ any of it _ , because your world has narrowed down to his mouth on you, his fingers in you, his heartbeat, steady and familiar and you want it forever, that rhythm in your ears. 

When he pulls away, you actually sob, and he hums a shushing noise against your thigh, bites a little to get your attention and you look up at him. 

You think you must look wild, frantic,  _ desperate _ and the thought. It should terrify you. How much you need him should terrify you. But he’s staring at you with that smile you know, the one that is soft and adoring and all yours and he whispers, “I got you, big guy,” just before he slides into you. 

It’s deep and fast, a smooth glide that makes you cry out and arch up and Stiles curse, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s not the ripping burning  _ pain _ of  _ her _ . 

This is nothing like that, nothing at all and you keen as he pulls back, desperate suddenly to keep him in you, keep him buried in your body forever, and he murmurs soothing nonsense. He thumbs at your face and his face crunches in concern. You shake your head, tug his hips a little and beg, “Don't stop, please, don't stop.” 

You don't know if you're talking about this or him loving you. 

He twists his hips when he thrusts back and white hot pleasure burns up your spine, tightens your balls and your fangs drop as he kisses you, makes him moan into the kiss and kiss you deeper, harder, licking around your fangs as you fight the urge to shift. 

“God, baby, you're so good. So good like this.” 

“For you,” you murmur, arching your neck and he whines as he leans down, nipping hard and hungry, “just you.” 

It breaks his control--you aren’t sure if it’s your words or the way you bare your neck, but you know it breaks open his control, until he’s fucking you hard and frantic, his eyes never leaving your face, even as his face twists up in pleasure and you--

Your orgasm rips through you, tears up your spine and you scream, spilling hot and wet and endless over your abs, splattering over Stiles’ chin, and he stutters a little, groaning, “Derek,” as he comes, emptying in you. 

When you can breath again, he’s propped on his elbows over you, a sleepy sated look on his face, and you can feel the wet slick spunk spilling from your puffy hole. 

“You ok?” he asks, gentle and you nod. Lean up and kiss him and he sighs into it. 

When he rolls to the side he nudges you up and brushes his fingers over your hole, easing his fingers in you when you groan. Your dick twitches in tired interest, but you are content to rest here in his arms, where you are safe and loved and completely--finally--his. 

“Love you,” you murmur, sleepily, and you hear him make a noise, choked and bitten off and you think it’s a little shitty of you, falling asleep after saying that.

But he’s safe and you are his, and you are dragged gently under, surrounded by his arms and scent and his come seeping out of you lazily. 


End file.
